Sumo Valentine Wishes

You'll probably have to click on the picture and make it bigger to read the "Happy Valentine's Day" on his waistband. I don't know why it blurred. Anyway, have a lovely day!!

And thanks for all the birthday greetings!

A Wii Christmas Story

Or: Another Lesson Learned the Hard Way

Before I begin, there are a couple of things I should tell you. We celebrated Christmas Eve’s at my daughter’s. My parents were there, my sister and brother-in-law, one nephew, and us. My sister brought my daughter a hostess gift. It was a life-sized pineapple on a pedestal, the symbol of hospitality. It was a bit heavy. It looked lovely on her coffee table. I provided the gumbo and I also received a pineapple.

The second helpful bit of info is that I played in a tennis league when we lived in Houston. I absolutely loved playing but when we moved here, there was no place to play other than the country club or the racket club and we could not afford the dues for that so I have not played tennis in over ten years. I am not a very competitive or aggressive person in everyday life, but something about being on a tennis court brings out my competitive and aggressive side.

So, the story is, my daughter got a Wii for Christmas. One of the college girls in the office was also getting one and she was so excited. We had the discussion about how older people are enjoying the games as a way to get them up and moving around a bit. All this time, I just did not get it. What was the big deal? But when we arrived early on Christmas Eve (to start heating up the gumbo), she had the game on and was playing tennis. She looked so funny swinging that little game paddle thing around, dipping and swooshing to hit the ball. Did I tell you that I love the sound of a tennis ball hitting the sweet spot on a racket? Oh I do.

Well of course I had to try my hand at this silly game. I played several matches before all the other guests arrived. My husband coached me from the couch (on all the things I was doing wrong!) until I asked if he wanted to try it and my daughters wished they had a video camera to catch all my action. It was fun! I played again before I went home and told my daughter I would return on Christmas evening after all the relatives had gone home (I thought they would never all leave!).

The second day of my tennis career revival, we laughed about how they have all the warnings about making sure you have plenty of room to play and said things like “I am so sure. All you do is stand here and wave the wand towards the ball on the TV set.” And “They have to put warnings on everything these days. Common sense will tell you how much room you need.” She got me all set up and man, I was doing great. My skill level was moving up and I had figured out how to guide the ball away from the players on the other side.

My only weak spot was in returning the serves of the other team. For some reason I could not consistently return their serves. I was determined to master this. I was moving around and shuffling my feet in preparation for receiving the serve. I was even getting slightly winded from all my enthusiasm. I was improving. But I did not notice how close I had gotten to the coffee table, the coffee table with the big, heavy, hard hospitality pineapple so prominently displayed in all its regal glory. The last serve came at me very fast. I dipped slow and backhanded the ball with a great swing and followed all the way through with my “racket”, straight into the pineapple. My middle finger of my left hand was smashed between the pineapple and the game controller. The pineapple finally moved and fell off the table. There was a big hole in it and when it hit the table’s edge, it cracked wide open. I looked down to see blood gushing from my finger and then it started throbbing. I ran to the sink to rinse it off and put some ice on it. My daughter was having a hard time trying to decide whether to laugh or to worry about my finger. It hurt. I sat down for a few minutes and being the warrior that I am, I bravely tried to play another match. I just could not return the serves so I gave it up for the night and sat and visited with my daughter. I told her I would give her my pineapple to replace her broken one.

Boys and girls, if you play Wii, make sure you always have plenty of room to play the game. If you are not careful, you could sustain an injury.

(Don't read if you are squeamish!! Today the swelling has almost disappeared but the ugly bruise is still there and I just noticed it is oozing blood around my cuticle. I hope that does not mean my nail is detaching right there.)

Flawed Economics

We had a truck towed in today, a 2008 Chevy Silverado, with bullet holes. The owner stopped by to sign an authorization to repair and our young boss said, “I have to ask, why did you put bullet holes in your truck?" The only part of the customer’s answer I heard was, “Well, you know, I’m a coonass*…” I did hear him say at the end of the story that he had not been in a wreck in six years and he’d only had this truck five months.

When the customer was gone, and my young boss was bringing me the paper work, I had to ask him what the story was. He said “The guy got drunk and shot holes in his tailgate because he did not want to buy the decals.” I asked him, “What decals?” and he answered, “You know, those bullet hole decals like Dad has on his truck.”

Some people will to great lengths to save a few bucks.

*Some Cajun people refer to themselves as "coonass". It is a slang term, I believe, one that is sometimes insulting depending on who uses the word and how it is used. I don't often use it, since I am neither a Cajun or a coonass.

Overheard in Lousiana Last Week

Two different conversations:

Guy #1 was dialing the phone and said he must have had a wrong number because all he got was "Please leave your numeric message after the beep."

Guy #2 says, "Don't mind him, he's impotent. He can't even dial a phone. Did I say impotent? I meant to say incompetent. What is impotent anyway?"

The second one went like this:

"Ain't she purty (referring to his wife)? Don't she just look beautiful? Well, 'cept for her teeth. I sorta accidentally threw them away last week and we ain't had time to go back to Lafayette (presumably to order a new set).

(Day 2 of 30 Days of Thanks will have to come later--already I am crowded with trying to get myself together. Son's lawyer was not in yesterday, he (and the rest of the office, with the exception of one lone male secretary who knew nothing) took the day off yesterday...sheesh...more later on that subject.

I Swear, Gladys, The Young People These Days!

You're gonna either love this, or you're gonna think I have flipped my ever-loving mind. I'm really not a "with-it" kind of woman when it comes to young people's music (horrors!). I much prefer my oldies! But I have heard of the band Cold Play, and somewhere along the line, I have heard their version of this song* (I may live in medium-town Louisiana, but I don't live totally under a rock!). I've watched this video several times and something about it moves me every time.


This is part of the explanatory blurb from the group's website: The current performers in Young at Heart range in age from 73 to 92. There are some with prior professional theater or music experience, others who have performed extensively on the amateur level, and some who never stepped onto a stage before turning eighty. None of the current performers of Y@H were part of the original group that formed in 1982, but they have kept alive the spirit of the early pioneers and continue to push the group into glorious new directions.

*UPDATE: I have since learned that it was the very cool Ayekah who sent me the link to Cold Play's original version of this song.

People Pics

Ok, in all honesty, I really was not brave enough to get too many butt shots. I was too afraid of people catching on to what I was doing and maybe throwing me overboard for participating in such a tasteless endeavor!

And to be fair to this woman that may be a bathing suit we see and not visible panty lines.

The woman in the red dress, the blue dress, the lime green dress and the woman on the sitting on the bench in the hot pink dress all bought their dresses on the island of St. Maarten for $4.99. We were all out on the deck, watching our departure from the port, making sure the captain of the ship was doing things right.

It is my opinion that this tattoo is a little too much of a good thing.

I love to watch people when they pose for the camera.

Here we have the winner of the "Whitest Legs on the Cruise Ship" contest.

This is what makes digital photography so much fun, the ability to immediately see the picture one has captured, and the opportunity for "do-overs" if you've messed up the first picture.

Road Trip

Hubby and I decided about noon on Saturday that we would go to Lafayette (a little over an hour away from us) and go to Barnes and Noble and then out to eat. We talked about getting a room since he could not leave until three or so, but I had seen on the internet some websites about bed and breakfast cabins you could rent and said I’d see if any of them were available. As it turned out, there were several that had openings and it came down to a choice of a cabin on Bayou Teche that was cheap-cheap or a cabin that was three times more but had a Jacuuzi. So the question was, do we go for scenery and thriftiness, or do we spurge on a silly old bathtub that makes bubbles? In the end, we chose to be economical. We brought books and our journals, planning to read and write and reflect. On the way out the door, hubby asks, “I wonder if they have a table and chairs to sit on?” (The cabin was a one bedroom cabin with no kitchen, it did have a bathroom, I asked that question.) I snorted and said “surely it does”.

Well. Turns out, the cabin was so small you could not cuss a cat without getting fur in your mouth. We were a little disappointed at first and thought about asking to switch the the only other empty cabin which was priced in line with the cabin at the other place (the one with the Jacuuzi). It had a fussy little bench seat inside the cabin and a stool at the antique vanity. On the porch there was a dainty little table with small chairs.

Strike 1: It was a homely little cabin.

Strike 2: It can’t be good news when the cheap plunger is right there in plain view, looking like it gets regular use.
Strike 2.5: I had no idea what these things were. The cabin was decorated with vintage women’s purses and hats but these things seemed not to fit the theme at all. I went to bed that night and prayed they would not come alive in the night and come to get in the bed with us. When we were getting ready to leave, I casually mentioned to my husband, “Hubby, I wonder what those things are”, and he reached over to touch them and pulled them loose from their perch (I knew he would!). Turns out it was a woman’s stole, a little fur collar thing. Whew.
In the end, we were satisfied with our choice. This was the view from our back porch.
Ducks.
Cypress trees.
This was out front, a remnant from the crawfish festival, no doubt. Breaux Bridge, where these cabins are located, calls itself the Crawfish Capital of the World.
This is one of those old-timey push mowers. We played around with these when I was a kid.
The handle of the mower is resting on a cypress knee.
Anybody know what this is?

The Mardi Gras parades are different from the Christmas parade in that they are always at least a little rowdy. And actually photographing the parade is difficult, especially when one is short, and one only makes the night parade. That's right folks, I missed out on the Red Hat Parade.

Plus there is the added aggravation of having to get there early to stake out your place, which does no good anyway, since people come along when the parade begins and they squeeze in front of you.

The most interesting part is walking down the street before the parade begins, taking in the sights.

We arrived early and I immediately spotted my first boody shot of the day! Remember the old kiddie joke, "Look Mom, there's a real horse's butt", usually said as we passed a trailor full of horses.

We took a walk down the street before the parade started and saw these folks selling Mardi Gras crowns.

You see all kinds of people walking the parade route, all shapes and sizes. Some people spend all day out here. They bring their barbecue pits and set up camp on the parade route.

Some people bring their bikes and ride the route. My daughter and I joked last year, saying we were going to ride bicycles in between the parades, taking pictures.

Poor dog, he was so ashamed of that girly Mardi Gras collar that he would not look me in the face.

These were two perfectly normal looking fellows walking down the street. They looked totally out of place.


This couple intrigued me the whole night. They obviously were not from here. The woman had on pantyhose and everything. Yuck!

And the man's suit was so wrinkled! I finally decided maybe they had rented costumes because that looked like the cheapest suit I have ever seen on a live person (in other words, it looked like one of those funeral home suits they bury people in, except this one did have a back on it!).

This poor child was packing her sister up and down the street. I know she did not need anyone to rock her to sleep tonight. And look at that Mardi Gras wig! Also note the plastic bag, useful for holding the candy and beads that are thrown from the floats.

Finally the floats arrive! It is not as easy as you think to throw beads from these floats. First of all, the beads do not fly straight through the air. And too many times you think you have caught someone's eye and you are going to throw to that person but you end up hitting someone else in the head, and the float moves on before you can even say "oops, I'm sorry". (Can you tell I rode on a float once?) Tonight I got hit in the head once or twice because I was too busy trying to take a picture.

You also have to manage to keep the strands of beads uuntangled enough to throw them out individually, while standing on a trailer that is swaying through the street. It ain't an easy job, riding the float.

This picture is not too clear (remember, it is dark now) but I included it because I liked the face sculpture on the float. Their hands are in the air because they are trying to get the attention of the people on the float, to get them to throw some beads. Some of the floats throw little moon pies in addition to beads.

This is what you have to manage to see through or around to see anything at these parades.



Now this man here, he grew two extra arms when the floats went by, and he snatched beads like they were worth something. I would move to one side of him and he would move over closer to me. Then I'd move to the other side of him, and he move closer to me. It was truly annoying. It was really all ok. We got plenty of beads in spite of him.

Even with the baby on his shoulders, the man was all arms, I tell you. All arms. And nine feet tall.

This was my view for a good portion of the parade:

And now, of course, what can I say? I mean, other than,

the end.

About Poor Old Mr. Smith...

I blurred his given name away out of respect. I figured the name Smith was common enough that it would not be a giveaway to this person's identity. I would just die if one of his relatives wrote to me saying they were offended that I was discussing the ramifications of his epitaph on the world wide web.

Anyway, the bird, the one on his marker, I don't know the significance of it. Further visual confusion is rendered by the fact that the little side marker on the tombstone has what looks to be a dogwood flower on it, not exactly images of masculinity (not that there is anything wrong with men being in touch with their feminine sides on occasion). These are the reasons I assume Mrs. Smith totally picked out this marker for her husband with no regard for his tastes.

Perhaps there is some sort of passive-aggresive behavior involved. Maybe Mrs. Smith is the one who will not move when the trumpet sounds if'n Mr. Smith will be arising--you know, due to the old "if heaven is going to be full of those kind of people, maybe I don't want to go" syndrome. Maybe Mrs. Smith has an equally thought-provoking epitaph waiting to be inscribed on her own separate monument.

But still, with all the poking fun aside, these words give us much to consider in our own lives. I know in my own life there have been more than a few times when if I had been a little more unawed by opinion, a little less concerned with what someone else thought, I would have made different choices. On the other hand, we all know people who are so rigid and stubborn that they will not be swayed by anyone's opinion because they already know all the answers. Perhaps that is one of the saddest traits a person can possess, a closed and immoveable spirit.

Skewed Observations of Your Normal Christmas Parade

I don't normally care for parades and such. It is too much trouble getting a place to park and staking out a spot to stand where you can see (I am a fuddy-duddy at heart). But my daughter was marching yesterday and I went to see her march. It was not a big parade and the crowd was thin where we were so I enjoyed myself in spite of myself.

This guy has it made. He is in his front yard, relaxed and ready for the festivities to begin.



Parades (and the National Anthem being sung at a sports event) sometimes make me teary. I don't know why. For the parade, I believe it was the combination of the military guys (knowing so many young lives have been lost and so many families have been touched by the grief that war brings) and the first marching group was a young group of ROTC kids, which reminded me of where my son was last year about this time (in a military type program and slowly adapting, until after Christmas break when he decided not to return), and a "Relay for Life" float (my brother died several years ago this month from cancer), all within the first ten minutes of the parade. I felt like sobbing, but I didn't. How does one explain the presence of such grief in the light of an event that is supposed to be cheerful and festive?



This is why I came to the parade in the first place, to see my daughter march. After they passed, my mood began to lighten and I started taking pictures. I tend to feel self-conscious with a camera hanging from my neck, but I am getting better at tuning out the outside world and just taking photos without thinking about what other people might think (There is an old post from December 13th of last year ("My Camera is a Jack-Ass") that sort of explains my problem with cameras).

I seem to have a preponderance of accidental boody shots in this round of photos.



We had the standard reportoire of dance teams. I think this one came over from Houston, TX to march in our parade.



These guys were talking and laughing and never missed a beat.



Here we have a serious fashion faux paus. Boys and girls, never ever wear this type panty hose with a shimmy-tail dance costume. Also, make sure there are no runs or tears in your hosiery. I would have gotten a picture of that too but my digital camera was a little slow on the uptake, so I missed the shot.



Here we have the cheesy football helmet on a Bronco vehicle. The guy driving this vehicle actually wants me to vote for him for District Attorney.



Hmm, I wonder if she is a Marine?



When I was taking this photo, I was wondering, "what in Sam Hill is that green pile of mess suposed to be?" After I saw the photo, I realized it was a Christmas tree, complete with MRI packages. I was more intereted in the Marine Corp and Navy (?) Gators. I'm not sure where they reside when they are not riding on the back of a flat bed trailor in a Christmas parade. Notice the Marine Corps gator has his snout full of beads for the girl to toss. (Which reminds me of a question -- Do other parts of the country toss these cheap beads in their parades, or is that a Louisiana thing? I've seen it done mostly in the Mardi Gras parades.)



Serious booty shaking.



Do you think the girl in dead center knew I was taking this picture and posed for it? That is the problem with taking pictures of people, you know. They see a camera and they get all stiff and start posing. I had to fuss at my father on Thanksgiving for stiffening up just because I was taking a picture of him. I do the same thing, I put on my picture face and then I hate photographs of me because I look like a stiff old battle axe (my daughter says, "well mom, that's what you are", which reminds me that I need to loosen up a little).



Parades are always a guarantee that there will be sweet little children perched in the back of pick-up trucks



or plopped down on the hood of a car, waiting for candy to be tossed their way. This little guy is actually looking the wrong direction. (Wonder how many times we ourselves miss the good stuff in life because we are looking in the wrong direction?)



My daughter dubbed this little guy "Mullet Boy". He knew which direction to look, and with the help of his mom, he gathered a sack full of candy.



But when the last float passed by and Mama gathered him up to go home, he had himself a little hissy fit. (Wonder how many hissy fits I have thrown when I realized I had to let go of something and I was not ready to do so?)



And how many times have I complained when the gig was over, and it was time to start the clean-up duties?





Imagine my surprise when I pulled my eye away from the lens of the camera and I noticed this float was sponsored by the local community college I attended last year. I was searching for familiar faces when I saw my speech teacher tossing what turned out to be a DumDum sucker with a tag on it that read "We're back. Better than before.", which is a bald-faced lie. They got hit pretty hard by Rita. The fall semester had to be cancelled. They are back, but they are limping.

Anyway, the speech teacher was quite entertaining and full of extra information that is usually not appreciated by younger students. He used to travel around the country giving motivational speeches. I have often wondered if hearing one of his speeches would motivate me to action. I always thought he'd be an interesting person to converse with. He also has a list of things he wanted to do before he dies, things like visiting the grave of Marilyn Monroe. I have wasted so much of my life flying by the seat of my pants. People who live with specific goals and timetables in mind tend to fascinate me.

Anomalies also fascinate me, and he is one. He makes these speeches all the time and makes it look so easy. You would think he was a social and outgoing person, be he confessed one time that he is actually shy and quiet when in a group of people he does not know well.

I asked him once if he thought there was any chance for a person to get their act together if they had not done so by a certain age and he said he thought it was unlikely. Again, I have wasted so much of my life flying by the seat of my pants. "Unlikely" was not the answer I wanted to hear.

Now, a word about photography. Apparently, sometimes you get caught up in the moment and you are concentrating so intensely on what you were trying to catch with the camera (the float) that you completely miss the elephant in the frame until you have uploaded the photo. (I wonder how long I have been walking around the elephants in my life?).


Honestly, another boody shot was not my intention. But then again, if you check the archives in February 15th ("Ice Carving, Louisiana Style"), you will find evidence that I seem to enjoy boody shots. As I said back then, what can I say, I mean, other than...

the end.